“So what do you think?” Milo’s question brushed against my ear. While I was busy wondering about Superman’s habit of scattering his clothes in phone booths all over Metropolis, he’d come up behind me.
“The whole thing is very cool.” Truth, and I stepped away, the better to put some distance between myself and Milo Blackburne. “I’ve never actually been in one, but my guess is this looks just like a real newsroom. Well, a real newsroom from back in the fifties, anyway.”
His smile was broad. “I hoped you’d like it. We’ll have drinks here tonight, what do you say?” And in response to my blank look he added, “You are coming tonight? To the cocktail party?”
It didn’t seem the right moment to tell him I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “I’m not sure…”
“But you have to come. Look. See?” He cupped my elbow and led me to the front of the set. From here, we had a bird’s-eye view of the commotion going on in the ballroom. Over on the far side of the room where the crowd wasn’t as heavy, workers were putting the finishing touches on what looked to be some sort of special exhibit. They were testing the overhead lighting, switching the spots on and off, adjusting them, putting them on again. “The convention organizers have promised a surprise and they’re going to unveil it this evening.” Behind his glasses, his eyes glimmered. “You do like surprises, don’t you? You wouldn’t want to miss this one.”
“You know what it is.”
His smile widened.
“And you’re going to tell me, right?”
Blackburne leaned in close enough for me to see my reflection in his glasses. “But if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, Lana.”
I bristled and stepped back. “If you think I’m Lana, it would be a plenty big surprise. Because I’m—”
“Pepper, of course!” Blackburne laughed, dismissing the mistake as nothing and changing the subject. “This…” He rapped his knuckles against the nearest desk. “This is Lois Lane’s desk. What do you think?”
“It looks like all the other desks.”
“Well, yes, basically. But just like the eyes are the windows of the soul, I have a theory that our desks give others insights into our personalities. What does the desk tell you about the woman?”
I gave the desk a quick once-over. “She’s neat and organized. Oh, and she’s got a picture of Superman on her desk!” I picked up the framed photograph of some good-looking guy who’d undergone the ultimate in humiliation and posed in blue tights and red cape for the photo. I only hoped they’d paid him enough to make it worth his while. “From this, I think I know something else about Lois,” I said, setting the picture back down where I found it. “She’s got it bad for Clark Kent.”
“Oh no!” Blackburne wagged a finger. “She’s madly in love with Superman. She has no idea they are one and the same person. Pity she loves him so much,” he added, turning away. “I feel bad about breaking her heart.”
“Which means…” I caught up with him and side by side, we walked back to the desk with the Clark Kent nameplate on it.
“Which means Superman has come to his senses, of course.” Blackburne made sure everything on the desktop was arranged just so. “He knows now that Lois isn’t the woman for him. He knows…” He moved in close enough for his words to brush my lips. “He knows Lana is the love of his life.”
It wasn’t the first time he started talking crazy while he was looking at me and this time, like all those other times, it gave me the willies. I was just about to tell him as much and ask him to please get real when the head of security came bustling over.
“It’s here, Mr. Blackburne,” the man said, breathless. “You told me to let you know as soon as it arrived.”
“Of course.” Blackburne dismissed the man with a nod before he turned back to me. “I’ll see you here this evening? I can guarantee you’ll be impressed.”
I kept a stiff smile firmly in place. “Impressed is something I like to be.”
With that, he let the bouncer know I could stay on at the Daily Planet as long as I liked and disappeared with the head of security.
I waited until they walked out of the ballroom before I hightailed it back to the heart of the crowd.
All those people and I still managed to run smack into Quinn.
“Everything okay with the Scooby gang?” I asked.
He was not amused. I could tell because he growled.
“Lighten up!” I gave him a playful poke. “Maybe you’ll feel better this evening when you get a couple cocktails in you.”
Quinn grabbed my arm and his fingers tightened like a vise. Without bothering to excuse us, he dragged me through the crowd and to the doors on the far end of the room, punched one open, and deposited me in a hallway that was empty except for a water fountain, a sign that pointed to the restrooms, and a few pieces of really bad framed art.
“What do you know about the cocktail party tonight?” he asked.
I hate when he gets all pissy like this. Especially when we’re working a case we wouldn’t be working at all if it weren’t for me and my Gift.
I stepped back, refusing to rub the place on my arm where his fingers had gripped it. “I know I’ve got a special invitation to attend,” I said. “And I’m having drinks with Milo Blackburne at the Daily Planet.”
“No, you’re not.”
I am nothing if not reasonable. Except when someone tells me no.
“And you’re the boss of me how?” I asked him, lifting my chin when he lifted his. “This is my investigation and—”
“No, it’s not.”
There was that word again.
I bristled. “You wouldn’t know anything about Jack Haggarty if it weren’t for me.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Thank you very much. Thanks to you, I know my former partner was taking bribes. That really makes my day.”
“So that’s what you’re peeved about! You find out Jack wasn’t on the up-and-up and you blame me? Not fair.”
He didn’t confirm or deny. He simply reached for my arm again.
This time, I wasn’t about to get dragged around. I swatted his hand away.
“What’s the deal with the cocktail party?” I demanded.
“You don’t know? I figured anyone who was having drinks at the Daily Planet had the inside scoop on that sort of thing.”
“You do lousy sarcasm,” I countered.
“I wasn’t trying for sarcasm, just the truth.”
“Which means, what? Are you jealous? Of me and Milo Blackburne?” The only way I could even begin to put the thought into focus was to step back, squint, and give Quinn a careful look. “You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?”
A muscle jumped at the base of his jaw. “I’m not jealous.”
“Then what is it?”
With one hand, Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, I get the thing about male ego. Especially when the male in question is Quinn. It didn’t excuse it, but it explained why when he told me what was going on, it was like each word was being pulled out of him with a pair of flaming tongs. “It’s this cocktail party,” he said. “I knew they had it scheduled. I just didn’t know why.”
There was no way I could ask more than with one perfectly shaped raised eyebrow.
“They’re doing a sort of big surprise unveiling,” he said. “And they’ve been playing this really close to the vest. In fact, I just found out about it this morning. Nice touch, don’t you think? I’m supposed to be helping them keep their damned stuff safe, and they never even bothered to tell me. When I asked why, I was told that if the cops knew what was going on, word might get out, and that would have ruined the surprise for everyone.”
I have never been known as a model of patience. Red hair, remember. “Tell you what?”
His sigh was monumental. “Tonight, a collector from Canada is going to be here to show off his copy of Action Comics number one. The very first comic book Superman ever appeared in.”
I think I was supp
osed to be more impressed.
I think Quinn realized I wasn’t. “It was originally published in 1938,” he said, filling in what I guess was pertinent information. “At the time, it sold for ten cents. There aren’t many around anymore. And that means every person at this convention would probably sell his soul to get his hands on that comic book. The last one that sold at auction brought in more than a million.”
“Dollars?” I nearly choked on the word. “For a comic book?”
“Old and rare. That makes it valuable. And tempting.”
I shot a look at the closed ballroom doors as if I could see that fancy-schmancy display.
“You think that’s what somebody’s going to try and steal.”
He nodded.
“Tonight?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Rossetti and Howie?”
“That remains to be seen. I stopped over at their most recent addresses and learned that neither one of them has been seen in a while. They might be lying low, planning a heist.”
“So maybe one of them is the one who’s supposed to get killed.” It wasn’t like I’d ever wish bad on anybody, but a girl can’t help feeling just a tad bit revengeful what with being pushed in a grave and all. “They killed Dingo. And Jack. That would save the justice system a long trial.”
“If we ever come up with the evidence to try them in the first place.”
“So we find the evidence.”
“No, we don’t do anything. I told you, you’re not coming to the cocktail party tonight.” With that, Quinn whirled around and walked away.
Like I was going to let that be the end of the conversation?
I scrambled to catch up with him. “Oh no, buster. You’re not going to tell me to get lost and get away with it! This is my case.”
“Were you listening to me?” He turned around so fast, I would have fallen flat if he didn’t grab my shoulders. “I told you, Pepper, they’re exhibiting a million-dollar comic book here tonight. Do you know what that means?”
“It means morgue or no morgue, somebody’s going to try to steal it. Yeah, I get that. It’s what we want, isn’t it? Then we can—”
“No, then we can’t do anything. Because you’re not going to be here.”
“Wrong!” I wrenched myself away from him and made sure to back up a step or two, just so he couldn’t grab hold of me again.
Even that wasn’t enough to send a message. “I want you out of here. Now.” Quinn’s order came from between clenched teeth. “And I don’t want you anywhere near this place this evening.”
“And miss all the excitement? You’re kidding me, right? I’m not going to walk away.”
“You will if I have anything to do with it.”
A woman conference attendee stuck her head out of the ballroom doors, apparently looking for the ladies’ room. One glance at the two of us fighting like alley cats and she ducked back into the ballroom.
“Are you forgetting that you wouldn’t have a case if it weren’t for me?” I asked Quinn.
“Are you forgetting that Jack told us that somebody’s going to die?” His breaths were quick and shallow. His face was pale. I think the only thing that helped Quinn hold on to his temper was curling his hands into fists. That, and spinning on his heels and marching away. “There’s no way I want you anywhere near here tonight,” he said before he slammed through the ballroom doors and disappeared. “Don’t you get it, Pepper? I don’t want anything to happen to you. I love you too much.”
I had been waiting to hear those words from Quinn for a long time.
So go figure, rather than racing after him, making him repeat them just to be sure I heard right, and throwing myself into his arms when he confirmed that I had, I stormed out of the hotel.
A girl has her standards, after all, and being told what to do by a bullheaded guy—even one who finally told me he loved me—wasn’t one of them.
Outside, I saw that the weather provided a perfect backdrop to my mood, in a poetic sort of way. Overhead, thick gray clouds bunched against each other and the wind whipped trees and tossed fast-food bags across the road along with the pages of somebody’s newspaper.
Perfect.
Gray.
Gloomy.
Stormy.
Perfect.
I was still grumbling as I neared home and thought about sitting in my apartment with nothing to do and no one to bitch at, and sad to say, I knew that would make me even more miserable.
Yes, I’d taken a vacation day and yes (again), I knew I was about to set an ugly precedent, but sometimes, these things can’t be helped. I was going to explode if I didn’t keep busy.
Garden View was my only option.
By the time I parked and dodged fat raindrops to get into the administration building, I had really worked myself into a state. I hurried past Jennine, our receptionist, and fortunately, when I walked by her office, Ella was on the phone and simply waved. So not in the mood to chat. I marched to my own office, threw open the door, and before I had time to slam it shut behind me, a wall of frosty air washed over me.
No big surprise. Chet, Albert, and Jean were hard at work.
“Hey, lookee who’s here!” Chet tossed out the greeting from around the cigar clenched between his teeth. There was a pile of papers in front of him and as he read through them, Jean flipped them over. “Did you know you got a dame buried in this place who used to be a burlesque star? That’s gonna make one socko article for that there newsletter of yours.”
It wasn’t like I wasn’t grateful, and just a tad intrigued, but honestly at that moment, I really didn’t care. I shooed Chet out of my chair and took his place. The seat was icy cold. Across the desk, Albert was adding and re-adding a long string of numbers on a ghostly ledger sheet. His head down and his thin lips pursed, he didn’t spare me a look.
“You’re not having a good day.” Jean reached for the pages Chet was finished with and tapped them into a neat pile. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“No. Thanks.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “I just need to hide out for a while. I figured I could—”
My words were split by a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder.
On the other side of my desk, Albert’s eyes flew open and he pressed a hand to his chest.
“I’ve got that new tour of politicians’ graves to plan and I might as well work on it,” I said, continuing on as if nothing had happened, because storm or no storm, nothing could compete with the racket going on inside my head. The word love featured prominently. As did that deal-breaking no. No, don’t show up at the cocktail party. No, don’t think of this as your investigation. And, of course, the biggie, the one that didn’t even need the no to give me the ol’ symbolic kick in the teeth—Mind your own business.
Okay, Quinn hadn’t quite put it that way, but admit it, he wasn’t far off.
I actually might have gotten emotional about it if another zip of lightning hadn’t snaked through the air. The office lights flickered, and Albert jumped out of his chair and scurried into the corner.
I looked from Chet to Jean to Albert, who was shaking like the leaves on the tree outside my office window. “Not passing judgment here,” I said, holding up a hand in the sort of universal sign that proved I meant it. “But you’re dead, Albert. And you’re afraid of storms?”
“Hey, cut the guy a break!” Chet floated around to the front of my desk. “Don’cha know? It’s how he died!”
I wasn’t exactly following, which is why my question was a bit unsure. “In a storm?”
Chet leaned over the desk and whispered, “Struck by lightning.”
I looked over to where Jean was doing her best to console Albert with advice like, “You must conquer your weaknesses,” and, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”
“But…” I glanced back at Chet. “That was like a hundred years ago.”
He scratched a hand alongside his bulgy nose. “You ain’t heard? You don’t know? G
hosts…we can get dispatched. You know, for good. We can get zapped into nothingness if the same thing happens to us now as what killed us back when we were alive. If Albert gets struck by lightning again…” Chet snapped his fingers. “That would be the end of him. Forever.”
“I didn’t know.” I said this to Albert as much as to myself, and just to show him I hoped there were no hard feelings, I went over to the window and closed the mini-blinds. “Better?” I asked him, and he nodded, but he didn’t get back to work.
At least not until the storm had blown over, the skies cleared, and the birds started chattering outside the window.
By then, I was a couple hours into reading about the local politicians—council members, mayors, a couple governors—who called Garden View their permanent home, and praying none of them would ever show up and start bugging me. Bad enough I had to listen to the live ones and their endless campaign drivel. I’d already investigated a case on behalf of a long-dead president. That was enough for me. If I ever had to deal with another dead politician, I’d have to remember Chet’s foolproof way of getting rid of a ghost.
“You’re reading the same page. Again.”
I hadn’t realized Jean was looking over my shoulder until I heard her voice. I slapped closed the book I was reading and tossed down my pen. “Hard to concentrate,” I grumbled. “Damn man!”
“You’re not talking about one of the former mayors of Cleveland who are buried on these grounds.” Jean, always insightful.
“You got that right.” Yes, I’d just dropped it, but I picked up the pen again so I could tap-tap-tap it against the desktop. Being bossy! Warning me that it’s not safe to do what I’d been doing and doing successfully these past years! Commanding me to stay away from the cocktail party at the convention that night!
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen!
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